anthem
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: Vincent watches as he waits. — almost!VincentYuffie


a/n; THIS IS REALLY OLD. Like, October of last year, old. And - I just don't know.  
YuffieVincent, if you look really hard.

anthem  
she will sing for a country; he will sing for a home.

* * *

"Hey, Vince."

She hadn't spoken in a long while, leaving the room in a stagnant silence. He had been waiting for her to break it, as she was wont to do, and he wasn't surprised when he heard the resolution in her soprano.

He watched her pull her shoulder-length black hair into her hands, weaving a dark green ribbon through the strands. She left it low and loose, her hands falling down by her sides, letting her head rest against her knees. She had been staring into the crackles of the fire for a brief time, moved her eyes into the vision of the pine tree in the middle of the room, and they stayed latched upon it.

Their mugs of hot chocolate sat untouched on the coffee table. It was a rare instance, for Tifa's creations in the kitchen improved each year until they could be easily called perfection. But Vincent would never consume it, never taste it with his dormant tongue.

He usually gave it to Yuffie. Or, in a more truthful description, she would grab his and down it before he'd ever get the chance.

Yet, sitting here, in the Seventh Heaven, things had never been more different. They were the only spirits occupying the house, alone, silent.

Tifa's presence had left with Cloud, shopping for the three children of the house. The rest of the party would come in to celebrate, at least for one night. A reunion of sorts that occurred each year.

He saw her bite her lip, turning into the face of the reckless sixteen year old from lifetimes past. The skin stretching across her face had a gaunt flavor, and Vincent, through the humming of her heart and twelve long years of knowing her, knew. He knew before she turned, before she fondled the ornament on the branch of the tree.

She held it, looking at it with a wistful kind of pain striking her face. The picture inside contained what they lived by now, all those memories.

"Godo died this morning."

The ticking of the clock on the mantle palpitated angrily.

Her grip on the picture tightened. "The bastard up and died from a heart attack. A _heart_ attack." She turned to face him, face clean and loose.

"He was full of fish oil and rice." She shrugged, placing the picture back, and fell back against the cushions of the couch. "Guess it's not that surprising anyways."

Vincent watched her, pupils catching every movement of every line dancing across her body. For the first time in a long while, he struggled against his decision to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Her brows furrowed, eyes indecisive. "I haven't decided if I am too." She grabbed her hot chocolate, taking it before her lips, but pausing. And then she sighed and rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion.

"Now I _have _to be the ruler." Then she gulped her drink down in three swallows. "I bet that jerk ate high cholesterol foods on purpose."

He looked away from her and to the window, ignoring her contradictive statements. He watched as thick snowflakes obstructed the view of the outside, glistening, white. They were increasing in beauty each passing moment.

"Perhaps…"

Yuffie turned to him, an eyebrow lifted. "You sure are talkative today."

He ignored her again, like he always did, placing his eyes into her own. She blinked away, and her hand sought out his mug.

"Perhaps he missed you, Yuffie."

She smiled, her canines sharpened and whiter than the snow. "I appreciate your kind words, Vince. But we both know that that's grade-A bullshit."

He felt himself sigh inside. Maybe he had judged her maturity too soon, her ossification against her father still burning and known, even so many years later, was a wall that she wouldn't try to break down. In his death, he would only be a gravestone. He wished, however, that Godo would become a memory, like AVALANCHE. Like Seventh Heaven. Like Tifa's hot chocolate and like Yuffie's youth.

With her ending sentence, she jumped up and took both of the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

"But all this talk of bullshit reminds me." She hopped to the front door, grabbing her scarf and placing her feet inside her boots. "I gotta get the munchkins their presents. I already told Tifa I bought them." And she grinned, sheepish and mischievous. "Good thing I nicked their wishlist."

The one thing that was able to surprise Vincent the most, following her with his eyes through the window, feeling her heat blister through the wall, an anomaly in the midst of the brandishing winter—Yuffie—

Yuffie didn't come back.

Of course, she sent the presents. Actually, 'sent' is probably the wrong term, for the gifts had been placed on each of the children's beds.

She left a note on the bar, not too far from the sink. The words 'Wutai' and 'business' were the highlights of the letter, and Vincent understood all of what she did full well. This had been planned before she had stepped foot in Seventh Heaven.

He made sure Tifa received the letter as soon as possible, and both her and Cloud were suspicious of what exactly the business was. Vincent would not be deterred by their looks or their questions, and vaguely mentioned that he didn't have any idea what had happened or that she had even left the city until he had seen the note.

Which was true. He just didn't expand his knowledge on the matter.

He did stay with them for Christmas, his ears healthy and still connected to his head from the lack of inane chatter. But he noticed how Tifa would look to certain areas, and find them vacant. Or how Cloud checked his boots before each individual use. And how Cid would ask for two shots of Costa del Sol liquor instead of only one.

He also found himself grasping a cup full of Tifa's infamous hot chocolate. He looked into the deep, velvety brown and thought of something else entirely.

When nobody was around, he emptied the contents in the sink.

He had gotten everyone a present, but he kept hers in his pocket, shielded underneath his cloak. He surmised he would give it to her another time.

After the festivities, he arrived at the Shinra mansion in record time, with a resolute mindset. He fixed the fireplace, dusted off the emaciated couch, and did what he excelled in.

He waited.

* * *

When Yuffie was inducted as the new Wutain ruler, her petulance had been wiped clean off her face. He saw, with a feeling of incidental pride only comrades feel, that she had become a woman.

He knew some day that she would, but it is quite a different sensation to witness it firsthand.

Everyone had been invited, and they had all come. He felt the tears roll off of Tifa's maternal cheeks, heard Cloud's smile radiate towards the newly placed White Rose.

He smelled the residue of smoky laughter emit from Cid's mouth, tasted the metal of Barret's arm as he failed in his attempt to not become emotional.

Reeve let the radiance of her become absorbed within him. Vincent had to acknowledge that he let it burn within him the same way.

Yet, through all of these sentiments that ran through him, he did not smile. In fact, they all made him feel a deep heaviness. He reasoned lightly that it was because he had not felt more than two emotions at one time for as long as he could remember.

But he could discern that that was not the case. He had seen Yuffie, and watched her with a trained eye. He knew, with a precise focus, that the smile she was wearing was not of happiness or of the carefree spirit he had battled side by side with in the WRO, in AVALANCHE.

It had been tamed, broken in. Her fight was over, and the dark green ribbon was not to be found.

And he knew that this was the life she was to lead.

Lord Godo would be proud.

* * *

He could be found in the Shinra mansion most of the time, but the promise of the coffin had lost its appeal.

He traveled over the expanse of Gaia, experiencing things he had forgotten, finding new places, searching old ones. The crystals of the cave had remained untouched.

But sometimes, he would stumble across the mountains of Wutai, compelled by the reign. He would go so far as to admit that he was even a little curious as to its fairing.

The economy was substantial, and the few changes that had taken place matched the personality of its ruler. (Caught thieves should not be given a warning the first time, but somehow that made it into the law). It was mandatory for her to wear the royal kimono, but whenever he saw her, it was nowhere to be seen.

She would walk among the cherry blossoms a few days out of the year. She would touch the petals, smile, be taken far away from the present. And in those instances, there would be silent, tiny roads paving across her cheekbones. They would frame her face with warm understanding, and then be blown away by the winds of change.

She'd turn then, look around one last time, and walk back into the palace.

And Vincent realized, sitting on the tall branch of a wilting cherry blossom tree, there wasn't anywhere else he would rather be. The world really was not as interesting as it used to be on the Highwind.

But the tree and its branches created a perfect fit for his form. He felt the sense of…home, underneath the orange-pink sky. And home, Vincent knew, was something that was not convenient. It was fabricated from the holds of nature—it would change, branch off, dwindle away.

Thus far into his never-ending life, he didn't think one would arise again.

* * *

a/n; thank you for reading! (:


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